Friday, January 22, 2010
Sumptuous purring delicious relaxation. Enough warmth and pressure, and those peas are tender. Surely that is a beautiful part of the dream- the dream that beckons to be, that moans in good feeling for more of what is. Will and dreaming. I wonder I wander I wander...
One of the most dangerous things we can do in nature is to interrupt the will of a wild animal. Everybody knows not to mess with the Mother, a bear. A tortoise will give up its life for a chance to mate. It's as if current life is secondary to current will.
A human has free will to create a life that isn't subject to the popular programming of our species. Who does it? We can be kinder than necessary for physical survival. Because we will it? Visions and realizing dreams are the jurisdiction of will. What are we capable of when wielding it purely? How do we unite ourselves entirely to the intent of our highest will? What is our highest will?
Is it possible to answer the question with words, picture, scent, song, touch? (The hope of art and lovers) And are senses like the petals of a rose? Soft petals that fold over each other in perfect pattern; enclosing, protecting, and yet also revealing the pristine center. The center. Sent her. Scent here. Sent here. Petals all around circling the golden crown.
We have the inclination /desperation for some sort of wider sweeter trajectory. As if the movement itself is the wholeness. *That* direction.
I agree now that it is a feeling. When I ask myself, "What is my highest will?" The only answer that feels right is that twinkle in the black- my heart and those eyes. I saw black eyes so warm and kind they held a world- like cream skimmed off the top of many glasses of milk. I wished for something I don't know how to wish for.
Hit the note. Silence hits back.